That's my boy

Today I took Joseph and John for haircuts. They were looking a bit woolly around the ears and it is so very hot that I was feeling sorry for them. We went around the corner to a Sports Cut type place. It's basically fast, cheap haircuts for guys. There was an old lady there getting a perm which I thought was interesting.

While waiting for our turn, Joseph was squirming around in his chair pretending that it was a pummel horse or something and asking to do somersaults. The older gentleman next to me asked me if he was in gymnastics. Of course, his is not. Before the man left he asked for Joseph's signature because "someday he's going to be in the Olympics". From that moment on the boy could talk of nothing else.

The waiting area filled up with men who were doing all they could to make no eye contact. But they were all listening to Joseph speaking ever so loudly to the beautician. Joseph is a talker. He has no agenda, he has no intentions, he is just likes to engage people whenever he can. And of course, the hairstylist is a captive audience. After hopping from subject to subject and continually asking for her age, he came to this topic:

"I'm going to be in the Olympics when I'm nine. It's not for four years so then I'll be nine."

"That's good. Then you'll have time to train."

"But I'm already trained. I'm potty trained. Baby John is not potty trained. He poops in his diaper every day."

The group of men couldn't contain themselves. They were snickering and snorting at this point.

As we were leaving he asked the lady, "Do you think I'm funny? My mom and dad think I'm funny. They sometimes listen to me talk and laugh- but just a little bit."